


Lilies and Baby's Breath (Hope Lives On)

by kowaiyoukai



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Cole Anderson Dies, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Human Connor (Detroit: Become Human), M/M, Married Life, Mentioned Reed900, Newborn Children, POV Hank Anderson, Pregnancy, Trans Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Trans Male Gives Birth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-18 18:35:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20643779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kowaiyoukai/pseuds/kowaiyoukai
Summary: Hank and Connor welcome their newborn daughter with loving, open arms. This is Connor's first child, but Hank has been through this all before. With Cole.





	Lilies and Baby's Breath (Hope Lives On)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blackeyedblonde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackeyedblonde/gifts).

> Thanks so much to blackeyedblonde for commissioning me! This was a fantastic fic to write. Please enjoy!

“Violet,” Connor said, firmly. “It’s got a kick to it. Plus, it’s a flower name. That’s always nice.”

“Vile Violet,” Hank muttered, cringing.

Connor’s thumb moved over his phone screen, stopping after a few seconds. “Okay, how about Laura? Solid, old-fashioned. Can’t go wrong with a classic.”

“It has aura in it,” Hank countered. “Could be a thing.”

Connor kept scrolling. “Daisy? It sounds sweet.”

“Like daisy dukes? Those short shorts girls like to wear?” Hank made a face.

“Why are you so concerned with nicknames?” Connor sighed as he put his phone down, letting the baby names website stare up at the ceiling, ignored for now. “And supernatural connections? And clothing?” Connor paused and adjusted his wrist cuffs, quickly adding, “Actually, that one makes sense.”

Hank ran his hand over Connor’s stomach, softly caressing their unborn child. “We have to think of everything now,” he replied, quiet and sincere. “There won’t be a chance to change it later.”

“Unless they want to change their name,” Connor stated, unbending on this fact.

Hank snorted. “Well, of course.”

Satisfied, Connor thought for a moment. A teasing smile played across his lips. “Henrietta?”

“No fucking way!” Hank shuddered at the thought. A sharp rise of Connor’s eyebrows had him muttering, “Sorry, sorry, no freaking way.” Connor sighed. “No effing way?” Hank tried, questioningly.

“We’ll work on it,” Connor promised, running his hand through Hank’s hair to pull his husband into a kiss.

~*~

Hank did some research and found an obstetrician who had experience with trans men. Doctor Singh suggested a C-section for a variety of reasons, and Connor agreed that it was the most logical way to proceed. They spent a few months getting ready, which felt like no time at all, and then Hank was standing next to Connor, holding tightly onto his husband’s hand as Connor laid on the operating table. Both of them were nervous, but Hank felt like he was a wreck.

“I’ll be right here the whole time,” Hank said, voice strung taut.

Connor squeezed his hand reassuringly. “I know,” he said. “I love you.”

Hank squeezed back. “And I’ll be keeping an eye on things, making sure nobody pulls anything.” He eyed the room critically, checking out the machines with the suspicious eye of a lieutenant with years of experience under his belt.

“Thank you,” Connor replied. He smiled up at Hank. “I love you.”

Hank’s gaze fell onto the heart monitor, which currently had a dull, blank screen. “It’s not working,” he said, slightly panicked. “Why isn’t it working?”

“It’s not turned on yet,” Connor said, a hint of amusement rippling through his tone. “Hey.” He brought Hank’s hand up to his lips to kiss the back of it. “Hey, handsome.”

Hank looked down at Connor, feeling his heart pound harder in his chest. “Yeah?”

“I love you.” Connor’s voice was soft, bursting with affection and pride.

Hank blinked quickly, using his other hand to wipe away the moisture that had collected in the corner of his eyes. “Yeah,” he choked out. “Love you, too, sweetheart. So much.”

The doctors began coming in then, and Hank felt calmer as soon as the heart machine was clicked on, the steady beeping reminding him that his husband would be just fine.

~*~

And he was. The procedure was as smooth as any parent could hope for. They were lucky. The doctors were experienced, and Connor was always such a badass, able to handle whatever life threw his way. Hank felt like he was falling apart, but he held his own well enough even when the C-section began.

To be honest, Hank had never thought he would have positive feelings about his husband being cut open. Certainly, his job had taught him that there were plenty of negative consequences of a situation like that. But this was different. Hank knew Connor was giving birth to their daughter, and all he could think about was how much having a family meant to him. How this baby would change their lives in all the brilliant ways children did. How Connor was opening himself up literally, but they were both opening themselves up metaphorically. To a new life, to new experiences, to new hopes and dreams.

Connor had wanted to be awake for the procedure, which some of the doctors warned against, but he was adamant that he didn’t want to miss a moment. Hank supported him on this, and so even though Connor was doped up with painkillers, they were both able to experience their child’s first moments together.

As the doctor passed their daughter over to Connor, Hank had to wipe away tears yet again. “Hope,” he said, gruffly.

Connor smiled up at Hank, an awestruck look on his face. “She’s beautiful,” he said, voice thick with unshed tears.

And she was. She had a wide, circular face with the cutest chubby cheeks Hank had seen in years. Her hair was a tiny tuft sprouting from the center of her head, a light brown that Hank thought might darken to Connor's color. Hank could immediately tell she had his eyes. That bright blue shone out of her narrowly opened eyes as she cried a bit, quieting down as Connor held her close. Hank and Connor looked at each other, unbridled love overflowing between them.

They were both saps, the two of them. A perfect fit.

“Yeah,” Hank agreed. He swallowed. “We should name her Hope.”

Connor’s smile widened. The tears fell down his face as he nodded. “Perfect.”

Hank watched Connor hold their daughter and thought, simply, sincerely, fuck yes.

~*~

Amanda and Niles came to visit them as soon as they got the okay. Apparently, they had been in the waiting room during the procedure, which didn’t surprise Hank in the least. He knew they wanted to support Connor. Hank was already preparing for a bit of helicopter grandparenting from Amanda, who had been on a baby kick well before Connor had even gotten pregnant. The interest from Niles was a bit more of a surprise. Connor’s younger brother tended to be more unapproachable, but it seemed even he had come down with a bad case of baby fever.

Their visit was nice for the Andersons. Connor happily welcomed them as Hank made a quick trip to get everyone coffee. He wanted to give Connor some time alone with his mother and brother, since Hank knew from previous experience that their lives were about to get much more hectic.

Previous experience. Is that what he was referring to Cole as now? Hank slowly walked the coffees back to the recovery room, letting his mind wander in the direction he knew was bound to happen. Cole was a strong presence in his thoughts throughout this entire process. Connor had talked with him about it, and Hank knew he could always confide in his husband if the memories became too hurtful, but for now he could only remember Cole’s first moments with a fondness that pressed down on his heart, making him ache in ways he couldn’t articulate.

Well. That was okay, too, in its’ own way. Family hurt sometimes, but that hurt came from love. And Hank was more than willing to put his whole heart into his family again. He would keep doing so, over and over, as many times as he could. Connor and Hope deserved nothing less than his absolute best.

When Hank came back into the hospital room, Amanda was setting up a vase of flowers on the table next to Connor’s bed. Honestly, he was surprised it had taken this long for Connor to get flowers. Given his and his mother’s shared love of gardening, Hank had assumed there would be more. Curious to see what Amanda had deemed appropriate for her grandchild, Hank passed out the coffees and was able to sneak a glance at the bouquet around Amanda’s shoulder. It was an all-white arrangement, which he figured made sense for the birth of a child. But it also brought forth a wave of unease, which Hank was able to push back from years of practice.

“Is something wrong?” Connor asked, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

Damn. Connor was always too quick for his own good. Hank smiled at his husband, softly squeezing his shoulder. “No, sweetheart. It’s a beautiful bouquet.” Connor didn’t seem convinced. Hank laughed awkwardly, adding, “Just thinking, that’s all.”

Connor still didn’t seem satisfied, but he let it go anyway, probably sensing that Hank didn’t want to talk about it. In truth, nothing was wrong, really. Or, there was something wrong, but it had been wrong for a while and it was going to keep being wrong, and the only real way of dealing with it was living on.

Hank looked at the flowers once more, the corners of his mouth turning upwards this time. It was lilies with baby’s breath—the same bouquet that had been the centerpiece of Cole’s funeral. Of course, no one else in the room could have possibly known that, and Hank would never hold it against them. It was, after all, a gorgeous arrangement, and Hank was sure it was both very expensive and personally picked out by Amanda, probably at painstaking length. Hank could admire the beauty of it, could see the appeal.

Just. Cole.

His heart hurt at the same time he felt ecstatic for Hope’s arrival and the new family he was starting with Connor. That was an odd dichotomy he wasn’t sure how to handle. Like the lilies—a flower apparently associated with birth AND death, which seemed strange, but what did he know about flowers anyway—there was a connection between the two separate emotions. He used to drink himself under when his thoughts got this way, but that wasn’t an option. Hadn’t been for a while. Now, he was going to have to face his life head-on. The good and the bad.

Luckily, he had Connor and Hope at his side. He knew with the two of them, he could face any obstacle. Hope had just entered the world and already she was filling him with a newfound sense of commitment and dedication. Hank was going to figure this out because, well, he had to.

His family was counting on him.

~*~

“You ready?” Hank asked, looking at Connor holding Hope with adoration in his eyes.

Connor nodded. “Let’s go home.”

Hank unlocked their door, knowing full well that this was a momentous occasion. The first time the four of them would be in their home as a family. Sumo padded over, quickly realizing there was a new addition held in Connor’s arms.

“Sumo! Sit!” Hank ordered, fully expecting the dog to ignore his commands. Sumo, having always had his run of the place, walked slowly forward, gently nosing at the squirming bundle Connor was protecting.

Connor smiled and kneeled down a little, still sore from giving birth but obviously excited for this highly anticipated meeting. “Sumo, this is Hope,” he said, keeping a firm hold on her as he allowed Sumo to get closer. “She’s part of our family now.”

Sumo moved a bit, putting his face closer to Hope’s face. Connor kept a watchful eye on these proceedings, but Hank reached out to wrap a hand around Sumo’s collar. He wasn’t taking any chances. Sumo was a gentle soul, but he was also a bug lug, and Hank knew he could do damage without intending to.

Still, that worry was for nothing. Sumo snuffled at Hope for a few seconds before he whined up at Connor, who Sumo had learned was a softie and easily manipulated into giving out treats. Hank laughed as Connor sighed.

“Let me put Hope down in her crib, Sumo. Then I’ll get you your snack.” Connor straightened up and walked towards the nursery.

Hank waved a hand at his husband. “You get the kid, I’ll get the dog,” he said, snorting as the humor hit him.

“You sure?” Connor seemed surprised.

Hank shrugged. “Yeah, darlin’. Seems like you’ve got us all whipped.”

Connor archly raised an eyebrow. “Don’t compare yourself to the dog, Hank,” he said, turning back to continue his way into the nursery. “You know Sumo is superior.”

Hank laughed loudly as he went into the kitchen, digging out Sumo’s treats. He tossed one over, watching as Sumo immediately began gnawing on it. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he muttered.

“I know,” Connor called back from the other room.

“I was talking to the dog!” Hank replied, shaking his head.

Connor laughed. “Were you?”

~*~

Connor was sleeping. Finally. He’d needed the sleep after the procedure and Hank was not one to deny his husband anything. Though his coworkers at the station needled him about it, Hank only felt pride at being able to be there for his family, to give them whatever they needed whenever he could. He’d always been a provider. That, at least, hadn’t changed.

This left Hank on his own with Hope, and though he had planned on playing with her in the living room, she had also fallen asleep. He nestled her comfortably into her crib, watching her tiny sleeping face, marveling at how perfect she looked even with her mouth slightly open and drool coming out. Hank thought of Connor asleep at this very moment. Like father, like daughter, Hank mused as he sat down in the chair next to his daughter. He could easily keep an eye on her here, which also meant he could relax a bit. Having a new baby was a lot of things, most of them joyous, some of them stressful, but for now Hank simply felt at peace.

He took out his phone, suddenly wanting to get another picture of Hope. It was a good shot. The light from the sun filtered in through the cracked open blinds, giving soft highlights to the entire room. The mobile above her crib was in the center of the top, the tiny robots hanging above her, protecting her as she slept. The blankets padding the bed ended up framing her perfectly, making Hope the center of attention like Hank already knew she was meant to be. Most importantly, the angle was just right—she was facing him, clearly visible between the wooden bars of her crib, and Sumo was laying down close enough that he made a cameo in the lower right corner.

Hank took a few pictures as he lazily used his bare foot to pet Sumo, digging his toes into the dog’s fur. Sumo let out a satisfied huff.

“Same,” Hank whispered.

He opened twitter to post the best picture there, only to find a few notifications. Mostly good wishes from friends and family, including a nice ‘welcome to the family’ from the DPD, but there was also a thread that had his lips twitching.

@progrAmanda: Congratulations to my son @hi_itsmeconnor and his husband @handerson on welcoming their baby girl Hope into our family! Finally I have a son who gave me a grandchild. *stares at @ToTheNines*

@ToTheNines: *stares at @reedindeed*

@reedindeed: *stares at @TrojanCondoms*

Finally, @TrojanCondoms posted *stares back* along with a gif of a screaming, crying baby.

And though the exchange was funny enough—it would certainly leave a smile on Connor’s face when he checked his account—Hank couldn’t help but think back to his time with Cole as a baby. It wasn’t exactly wrong. There had been some fits thrown in true Anderson fashion, of course. It seemed their family never grew out of that. Yet even more common were the quiet times. When Hank had gently held Cole, rocking him to sleep. A younger, bouncier Sumo sniffing away at the bundle of blankets and tiny giggles. Cole sitting in his high chair, eyes wide and shining as he took everything in for the very first time.

Some things would be different. Hank was older now. No denying that. He could already feel his bones ache and creak from the activity. And there was no denying that Cole’s memory was right there, reminding him of all that he’d lost.

But Hank was also reminded of all he’d gained. A new family. A second chance. It was everything he never dreamed he’d get to have. It had been impossible to imagine trying again when he was at the bottom of the bottle. Connor had pulled him out, pulled him up into a loving relationship that was more than he’d ever had before.

Hank tucked away his phone, realizing the smile on his face had been there for a while. The memories of Cole still hurt—they always would—but he was able to remember his son fondly now. The strength of that propelled him forward into imagining his future life with his husband and daughter. There was still so much more for him. First steps. First words. First days of school.

Oh, school. Hank’s smile widened as he leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting over where Hope was asleep in her crib. That was a task he hadn’t much considered this time around. Learning that new math he’d heard about. Remembering how to write an essay. Reviewing dates of wars, memorizing state capitals, and spelling out those long, complicated words that nobody ever really used again—the ones with too many syllables and consonants in places that made no damn sense.

Hope’s future spread out in front of him, sharp and bright, multicolored lights on a Christmas tree that wrapped around and around, slowly winding their way up until they reached the star at the top. That was his hope for her—both of theirs, really—that she would rise to every occasion, always shining brightly, and always aiming to improve. With a father like Connor, Hank couldn’t help but think she had the best chance possible to do just that.

And, as Hank began to feel more at ease with imagining it, he couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, he was still strong enough to support them both.

~*~

The days passed in a chaotic whirlwind. Each second brought with it joys that sometimes masqueraded as challenges. As a first-time parent, Connor had a lot of initiations to go through. As an experienced parent, Hank was reminded of all the small events in the day-to-day that he’d let fall to the back of his memory.

Throughout it all, Hank made sure to keep time available for the two of them to relax together. It wasn’t much—pockets here and there that fit between feedings, naptime, bathtime, playtime, and so on. But those moments kept Hank and Connor close together, a tightly knit unit that grew stronger every day.

Hank thought of that when he noticed Connor cracking his neck after they had put Hope down for a nap, baby monitor on and blinking, reassuring them they’d hear when she woke. Connor had been going like the machine he sometimes seemed to be—catching up on missed work between caring for Hope—and, though Hank was there for all of it, Connor never let himself rest. Sometimes it was inspiring and a bit daunting. Now, every instinct Hank had told him Connor needed some time off.

“Come here,” he said, patting the couch cushion he was sitting next to. “You need a break, babe.”

Connor practically fell next to his husband, leaning into him with a muffled groan. Surprising, but just further proof that he was at his limit. “Hope’s asleep. Feels like I should catch up on some, too.”

Hank smiled and put his hands on Connor’s shoulders, slowly squeezing out the tension in his husband’s muscles. “You need to relax,” he murmured. “You’ve been going nonstop.”

The moan that came out of Connor’s mouth was long and low. Hank leaned back into the couch and gently maneuvered Connor so that he was laying facedown over Hank’s lap. Connor was leaning into Hank, slowly, but Hank knew his husband far too well to think it was that easy to get him to relax.

“Let me help,” Hank murmured.

Connor hummed noncommittally. “You always do.”

Hank’s hands began kneading into Connor’s shoulders and upper back. The tension in his husband’s muscles was tight and unyielding. He pushed down harder, digging his fingers in until Connor made a soft noise of satisfaction.

“You Type A’s are always like this,” Hank muttered, shaking his head. “Stretching yourselves to the limit, organizing and analyzing every fuhhh—udging thing.”

Connor snorted. “Says the Virgo.” The sarcasm in his voice melted away as particularly good rub had him groaning out, “Never mind, you’re perfect, keep going.”

Hank laughed, a quiet sound that just felt right. He decided to do this more often. Letting Connor take a load off gave him a sense of satisfaction. Always had, really. That ability to soften the man’s demeanor, to smooth out his sharply defined edges, made Hank feel like a fucking magician.

A few minutes passed. Silent but comfortable, Hank felt himself get into a rhythm with his husband. Connor was pliant, sprawled over his lap with his eyes closed, and a slow burn rumbled its way up through Hank’s belly. He moved one hand down to softly squeeze Connor’s ass, which had his husband moaning loudly.

“Hank,” Connor breathed out. “Please.”

Hank slowly moved his hand to the waistband of Connor’s pants, slipping his hand inside so it was trapped between the cloth and his husband’s skin. He rubbed his palm over Connor’s ass, gently feeling the soft give as his other hand continued to massage Connor’s shoulder.

“Mmm.” Hank’s murmur was low, full of heat. “Look at you.” He slowly moved his middle finger down, curving it around Connor’s ass and going right up to his perineum. He rubbed that spot for a minute, soft and gently, making sure Connor was relaxed before going further.

“Hank,” Connor whispered, breathily. “Keep going.”

“Yeah,” Hank rumbled. “Yeah.” He pushed his finger further, curling it up into Connor’s vulva, letting the tip of his finger rub into Connor’s sensitive spot. At his husband’s encouraging gasp, Hank licked his lips and added a second finger, using his index to press inside of Connor as his middle finger continued its’ work on Connor’s sweet spot.

Connor let out a long moan, beginning to gently move his hips in time with his husband’s hand. Hank squeezed Connor’s shoulder a bit harder, forcing Connor to stop his movements.

“Stay down,” Hank commanded, voice exceptionally raw. “Let me do the work.”

Connor responded by letting his body fall to his husband’s lap, lazy, boneless. Hank hoisted Connor’s hips up just enough to angle his fingers in deeper. The wetness his husband produced made his fingers a bit slippery, just enough to really get a good finger-fucking going. Hank knew Connor enjoyed letting go of control since he held onto it so forcefully so much of the time. He was glad his husband trusted him enough to relax and simply enjoy the sensations.

Hank noticed Connor started to shake a bit—barely noticeable but Hank had plenty of experience in this area—so he sped up, rutting his fingers into Connor’s sweet spot and rubbing them over his hole until he came, shaking and whimpering. Hank licked his lips again. He didn’t feel done, so he kept on rubbing, using his hand to bring Connor through one orgasm while attempting to start another one.

Connor groaned, chest heaving as he moaned into the couch, “More.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Hank mumbled, voice raspy from his own desire. “Me too.”

Hank slowly picked up Connor’s hips, lifting his husband off the couch. He undid Connor’s pants, pulling them down to his knees. Then he let himself fall down, leaning back and carefully rearranging their bodies until Connor’s vulva was in front of his face, having to flip his husband over to do so. The angle was a bit awkward and Connor’s pants were somewhat in the way, but Hank had never been good at waiting to take something he truly wanted. He loved Connor’s body since he’d first seen him, but his husband’s post-pregnancy body had a specific kind of appeal. He licked his lips again and then breathed out over Connor’s vulva, making his intentions clear.

Connor moaned louder. “Fucking tease,” he murmured. Then he pushed his ass back, quickly pressing hard into his husband’s face.

Hank’s laugh was immediately muffled, but in less than a second he had opened his mouth wider, sucking messily on Connor’s genitals. Hank began licking at Connor, alternating between tongue-fucking him and sucking hard on his clit. Already sensitive from coming, Connor moaned desperately, clearly ready for round two.

Hank grabbed Connor’s ass cheeks, squeezing them before running his hands up to Connor’s thighs and moving them farther apart so he could get his face in a little deeper. Hank’s tongue licked over Connor’s opening a few times, just so he could lap up more of Connor’s natural lubricant. He loved tasting his husband, and—shockingly—Connor never seemed to mind Hank using his tongue.

After a few minutes of Hank licking hungrily into Connor, he felt Connor’s vulva pulse around his tongue. Hank made a strong push to lick faster, pushing his tongue repeatedly up into Connor hole and pulling it down the entire length.

Connor came a second time, and Hank licked him until it was done. Connor basically fell against him after that. Hank gave Connor one final, intimate kiss before he maneuvered it so that they were both lying on the couch, Connor safely wrapped up in Hank’s arms.

“I love you. I love doing that,” Connor murmured. “I love how soft and scratchy your beard feels. I love your calloused hands.” He relaxed into Hank, completely satisfied.

“I love you, too, darlin’,” Hank replied. “I love the sounds you make. And how you taste. Fuck.” Hank sighed. “It’s good.”

A bark had them both looking down at Sumo, who had just padded over to them from wherever he’d been hiding. Probably by the refrigerator.

“Perv,” Hank said.

Sumo whined and laid his head down on his paws.

Connor hummed thoughtfully. “You didn’t come yet.” He lazily pressed back into Hank’s erection, sighing lightly.

“Yet,” Hank emphasized with a small, casual shrug. “We’re not done, sweetheart.”

“Oh, really?” Connor asked, smiling.

“Mmhm.” Hank murmured. “Let’s get to bed.”

Connor stood up, kicking off his pants and then picking them up, bringing them into the bedroom. Hank followed along behind, also getting undressed. They might have left clothes lying around before Hope came, but even then Connor never liked getting his outfits too wrinkled.

Once they were both naked, Hank tossed his clothes into the laundry bin and grabbed onto Connor’s wrist. “You ready?”

Connor laid down on the bed, using his wrist to tug Hank down next to him. He landed with a soft exhale, unexpectedly and suddenly horizontal. Connor huffed out a laugh at him. “Come on, babe. You’re not THAT old.”

Hank snorted. “All right, leave me alone,” he muttered. Then he casually rearranged Connor on their bed, moving pillows behind his head and under his hips.

“Come on. I want you.” Connor reached out, leaving small flirtatious touches on Hank’s chest and arms.

It didn’t really take much convincing for Hank to keep going. He caught Connor’s hand and kissed his palm, leaving his husband a bit out of breath.

“Too sexy for you?” Hank teased, gently caressing one of Connor’s thighs as he smiled down at him.

“Always,” Connor agreed, completely serious.

Hank’s breath caught in his throat. He leaned over Connor and kissed him, slow and sure. It was cheesy, the way he felt about Connor. Hank felt like his husband warmed him up inside—like Hank was lost and Connor was there with a GPS to lead him home, or like he was standing outside in a snowstorm and Connor had pulled up in a car with the heat blasting, opening the door and quickly gesturing at him to come inside. Connor was strong like that. He was the kind of man who knew what to do in situations that had Hank feeling a bit lost. Not that Hank didn’t consider himself strong—he definitely was—but Connor brought out another side of him. Connor allowed Hank to feel vulnerable. That was pretty fucking rare, in his opinion.

Moving with a slowness that defied the sharp beating of his heart, Hank put on a condom, lubed himself up, and then pushed into Connor. They both relaxed when Hank began moving, feeling tension bleed out and muscles loosening up. It really was similar to a massage, Hank realized. Kind of funny. Hank chuckled quietly at the thought, and Connor looked up at him with a quirk in his lips.

“What?” Connor asked.

Hank shook his head. “’S like a massage,” he explained. “That’s all.”

Connor laughed, breathy but sincere. “Your dick’s doing all the work now?”

“He always does,” Hank replied, moving forward to push in deeper as he kissed the side of Connor’s neck. “Now shut up and let him earn his keep.”

Connor laughed again, this time loud and bright. “Yes, sir,” he said, giving Hank a sharp salute.

They fell into a well-known rhythm. Hank focused on pressing in as far as he could go, smushing his balls up into Connor’s clit. Then he dragged his cock back out, taking care to run his length along Connor’s inner walls. Hank took his time, working on ensuring Connor was being properly satisfied. Eventually, Hank began to move faster, thrusting hard as his body kept on colliding with his husband’s. The thick, wet sound of skin on skin had him feeling hot—almost too hot to keep going, but he couldn’t bear to stop. Connor was just as worked up, and, soon enough, Connor had a third orgasm, his vulva spasming, pulsing, tightening around Hank’s dick until Hank also came, chasing after Connor like he always did.

They spent a few peaceful moments laying there, wrapped up in each other. Hank never got tired of cuddling his husband after they made love. He didn’t care how hot it was or how sweaty and cum-covered they were; he was absolutely going to hold onto Connor until the last possible moment.

In this case, the last possible moment was when Hope’s cries sounded from the baby monitor on their bedside table. Hank groaned and kissed Connor’s cheek. “I’ve got it,” he mumbled, slowly moving off of his husband and then the bed.

Connor yawned. “You sure? I think it’s my turn.”

Hank waved his hand. “Stay there, beautiful. You earned the extra sleep.”

“Then leave your dick, too,” Connor replied, tiredly grinning. “He earned his keep tonight, remember?”

Hank groaned. “Fine,” he agreed, opening the dresser and pulling out a pair of boxers to put on right after he hit up the bathroom to clean up. “You keep ‘im, then.”

“Thanks. Think I will.” Connor snuggled into his pillow, already beginning to pull the sheets towards his side of the bed. Hank eyed him suspiciously at the move but decided to let it go. He left the bedroom, rubbing his eyes as he made his way down the hall. A parent’s job was never done, they said. Well, fuck, Hank thought. They were definitely right.

~*~

Hank grunted hard, attempting to twist the lid off the jar of baby food. “What the,” he muttered, face turning slightly red. He breathed in and held it as his knuckles turned white with the force of him trying to open the damn thing.

“Problem?” Connor asked from his seat at the kitchen table.

“Nope.” Hank bit out, finally exhaling as he took a break. “Just a defective jar, that’s all.”

Connor reached out and made a give-it-here motion with his fingers. “Let me try.”

Rolling his eyes, Hank passed over the jar. “I don’t know what you’re expecting will—”

Connor immediately twisted the top off and handed the glass jar back to Hank.

“—happen,” Hank finished, flummoxed. He frowned slightly as he took back the jar, mumbling, “I loosened it up for you.”

“Sure,” Connor agreed, nodding. “’Course you did, baby.”

Hank put the jar in the microwave without another comment, knowing it was highly unlikely he was going to win this argument. It took only a few seconds to heat it up just enough that it didn’t burn Hope’s mouth. Hank took it out, grabbed a spoon, and sat down at the kitchen table along with his daughter and husband.

It had been a while since he’d fed an infant, but he definitely remembered all the tricks. Scooping out a tiny bit of food onto the very end of the spoon, Hank held it up in front of Hope, watching her as she looked at it suspiciously. Well, that was fine. He just had to make it fun for her. He could do that.

“Here comes the airplane,” Hank said, making choo-choo noises as he circled the spoon around in the air in front of Hope.

Connor seemed incredibly unimpressed. “You do realize that’s a train, right? Trains go chuga-chuga-chuga-chuga-choo-choo. Airplanes go bzzz-burrr.”

Hank gave him a look. “Bees buzz, Con. Airplanes aren’t bees.”

Hope giggled, clapping her hands together once before she reached out to Hank, her fingers grasping in and out. She was sitting in her high chair at the kitchen table, ready for lunch. Or at least, the idea was that they would eat lunch at some point. Sumo was walking around under the table, slowly circling like a piranha. Hank pushed him away with one foot as he smiled at Hope.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Hank said in a high-pitched voice—which, admittedly, for him, was not that high-pitched at all. “Airplanes aren’t BEES. Who would be so SILLY to think that AIRPLANES are BEES?”

Hope’s mouth opened as the spoon came closer.

“Who thinks airplanes are bees?” Hank gently let Hope eat off the spoon, pulling it away when she was done. “Is it your daddy? Huh? Your daddy does?”

Hope cooed at him as she ate, gurgling with joy.

“Yes! Yes, it’s your daddy!” Hank watched as Hope swallowed and then carefully went to get another spoonful. “Your daddy’s pretty but dumb, isn’t he? Isn’t he?”

Connor made an offended noise from low in his throat. “I can’t believe you’re calling me dumb when you just made train noises for a plane.”

Hank pushed Sumo away from his leg again, eyeing Connor with the confidence of a man who’s sure he’s right. “I made plane noises for a plane,” he remarked. “And, by the way, you might have noticed it landed in the station without a hitch.”

Connor made a disgruntled noise. “Planes don’t land in stations, Hank. They land in airports.” He held a hand up, somewhat pleading. “Airplanes. Airports. Do you see the connection there?”

Hank sigh was long-suffering. “The things you learn about a person after you’ve married them.”

Hope smacked her lips together a few times. Connor looked at her and said, “I couldn’t agree more, Hope. We have to do something now, quickly, before it’s too late and your father has taught you the wrong noises for machines, sending down a long and lonely path of mockery for your entire elementary school years.”

Hank rolled his eyes at Connor’s antics. Sumo flopped his head down on Hank’s knee, seemingly sympathetic, but Hank knew better. “Don’t think I don’t know your game,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “You’re not getting any of this.” Sumo whined but Hank dutifully ignored him.

“Wow.” Connor sounded impressed. “Are you finally setting some boundaries in your relationship?” He nodded seriously, a twinkle in his eyes the only giveaway. “Good for you, Hank. You’ve let him lead you around for too long.”

Hank grinned. “That’s right,” he said, staring down Sumo. “I hold the leash in this relationship. And don’t you forget it.”

Sumo jumped up, snatched the spoon out of Hank’s hand, and ran out of the kitchen. 

Connor burst out laughing.

“Hey, fucking—come back here!” Hank shouted out, standing up and chasing after the dog, half to protect his pride and half to ensure Sumo didn’t swallow the damn spoon.

“That’s your dad,” Connor breathed out between spurts of laughter. “He’s off his rocker, but we love him anyway.”

Hope gurgled happily, her eyes following Hank and Sumo around and around. She waved her hands in the air as Sumo did a particularly nimble move around the coffee table, perhaps cheering him on in her own way. But when Hank finally grabbed Sumo’s collar, stopping the dog from going any further, Hope banged her hands on her high chair, the loud sound imitating applause.

Connor applauded along with their daughter, smiling at Hank. “Good job, handsome,” he congratulated. “You saved the day.”

Hank snorted. “You never say that at work,” he muttered, wrestling to get the spoon away from Sumo.

“Because I save the day at work,” Connor quickly responded. “I’ll get another spoon and feed Hope. You’ve earned a rest.”

“Have I?” Hank asked, panting slightly as he wrenched Sumo’s collar to one side and the spoon to the other, muscles straining as he fought against the canine’s jaw.

“Yep,” Connor blithely answered. “You earned it.”

~*~

Connor was holding Hope in the living room, sitting on the couch, gently rocking her. Hope was wide awake, looking around, interested in absolutely everything. Since Sumo wasn’t allowed on any furniture, he was obviously on the couch, hiding behind Connor’s knee as if Hank couldn’t see him there. Hope seemed entranced by Sumo. Her gaze kept returning to him, a giggle bubbling up in her throat when she saw his big fuzzy face.

Soft jazz was playing in the background, quiet and unobtrusive. Hank went over to his music player, deciding to try his luck. He switched off the jazz and put on an old classic.

As one of their signature songs came on, Connor’s head snapped up. “Knights?” he asked, monotone. “Seriously?”

“What?” Hank asked, innocently. “The volume’s low.”

“It’s heavy metal, Hank,” Connor said, the corners of his mouth turning upwards despite his objection.

Hank gestured towards Hope. “She’s into it.”

True enough, Hope’s smile widened as the guitars and drums began getting louder. She gurgled along when the lyricist began singing—well, shouting. Sumo’s tail thumped faster, his head lifting as his tongue lolled out.

“Seems like everyone’s getting excited,” Connor said, grinning.

Quickly deciding fuck it, Hank began to headbang, his long silver locks flinging wildly in the air. He spun on his heel and performed a pretty impressive air guitar, rocking along with the song that he had memorized for more than a decade. His fingers strummed out a melody, quickly wiggling around as the guitarist went into a signature solo.

Now this he knew. This was music he could feel in his fucking bones. Jazz was always nice, speaking to his soul in a way that was hard to define, sometimes. Jazz could get him through any depression—not by lifting him up and away from it, but instead by guiding him by the hand, pushing him along as he broke through each barrier until he finally could see a way out. But metal felt like he was truly alive, like each note was designed specifically to seize through his veins, making his heart pump too fast and his blood run volcano hot.

He wanted his daughter to know that. He wanted Hope to grow up with that feeling, with the ability to grab whatever life threw her way and toss it back, to make her own demands of life and to have life fucking listen—finally, for once. He knew he couldn’t imagine what her adulthood would be like. It was too far away right now, too insubstantial to be anything other than vague blurry images of her being taller, maybe with longer hair, definitely smiling. What would she do for a career? Who would she date, or marry, or would she be uninterested in all of that? Would she travel? Would she be an introvert? Would she visit her fathers regularly, even when he and Connor were a pain in the ass?

It was impossible to know. But if Hank could give her the strength to get through everything, he would. And what was stronger than metal?

The answer, of course, was HEAVY metal.

Hank’s thoughts had him grinning. He wiggled his shoulders towards Connor, Hope, and Sumo as he began mouthing the words, feeling the beat through his entire body. His feet took him slowly closer to his family, rotating on his heels as he grooved along.

Sumo barked a few times, his ears perking up at the familiar music. Hope waved her hands in the air, doing her own air guitar—or that’s how Hank interpreted it, at least. Hank held up his left hand to mimic holding a microphone, silently serenading Connor as he pretended to sing along with the screaming. He kept up his guitar riffs with his right hand, really feeling like he had a good thing going there.

Connor smiled at Hank, looking fondly between his husband and his daughter. “Looks like we’re starting a family band.”

Hank held out the invisible microphone to Sumo, who licked his hand, and then to Connor, who smirked and also licked his hand, and finally to Hope, who hit his hand repeatedly in an excited flurry of activity. Hank took the microphone back, feeling overall like it had been a successful journey across their imaginary stage.

As the first song came to a close and the opening chords of another started to play, Hank looked to his husband to see how he was feeling. Connor made a sign of the horns, a hand gesture Hank had never seen him use before. “Rock on, babe,” he encouraged, and Hank did just that.

~*~

Hank normally left the blinds in their bedroom closed, not wanting to wake up at the crack of dawn every day. He set his alarms so he didn’t sleep in, but especially now with Hope waking them up throughout the night, neither he nor Connor had any desire to miss out on sleep. But it wasn’t Hope that kept him up tonight.

Connor was as fast asleep as their daughter was, both of them oblivious to Hank’s late night thoughts. His mind drifted sometimes. He couldn’t help it. He was a thinker, all jokes aside. That’s why he made lieutenant. He could solve puzzles that stumped others, find patterns where some people could only see coincidence.

This was, in essence, the base of his problem. Hank stared out at the black sky, leaning against the window ledge. It was impossible to see the stars if he looked directly at the city. The lights were too bright; they shone in a way that made them the center of attention, burning on no matter the time of day. Hank had grown up in Detroit, had always been a big city kind of guy, so he had experience in tilting his head up, farther than the city lights could reach, and in squinting until his eyes could make out the distant dots hidden behind night-time mist and clouds. He could only see the stars if he narrowed his eyes, limiting his vision to take out everything extraneous. Otherwise, he’d get lost in the shuffle of it all.

And he had to focus. If he didn’t snap his mind into shape, it would wander away. He’d get lost in old, bad habits that he’d worked hard at breaking. There were many ways in which Hank considered himself a success story. But it had taken work to get here. And he needed to make sure that he kept his focus on the present.

Still. Sometimes, it was reassuring to let his mind wander. He loved the life he had now, of course and without question. He was lucky—very lucky for a man in his fifties. He was proud of the life he and Connor had made. He was in love, deeply, with a man who loved him back in a way Hank had never really felt before. All of that was wonderful. He thanked every god he could think of every fucking day for his blessings.

Still.

Connor stirred in their bed, his hand reaching out to feel the empty space next to him. “Hank?” His voice was croaky, a little confused.

Immediately Hank turned from the window towards his husband, not wanting Connor to feel any discomfort or unease. “Con,” he murmured as he sat back down on their bed. He laid his hand on Connor’s thigh and softly squeezed, a gentle reassuring pressure. “I’m right here.”

Connor got up on one elbow, blinking at Hank. “Time is it?”

“Late,” Hank answered. “You should go back to sleep.”

Connor reached over and ran a hand through Hank’s hair. “What about you?” he breathed out, tired but slowly getting more alert. “Why are you up?”

“I miss Cole.”

Hank was surprised at how quickly he responded, but, then again, he’d never been good at hiding anything from Connor. Even back to his first bumbling attempts at flirting when Connor had been amused but pleased, Hank suspected the man simply knew everything he was feeling. Usually before Hank himself had a single fucking clue.

“I know.” Connor sat upright and wrapped his arms around Hank, pulling the larger man into a tight embrace. Hank went willingly, eagerly. He clutched onto Connor’s back and shoulders, the heavy weight in his chest that he could sometimes manage suddenly dragging him down with it.

Hank’s eyes blurred with unexpected moisture. He buried his face in Connor’s shoulder, mumbling, “Oh, fuck.” His voice trembled just like his body.

Connor kissed the top of Hank’s head, burying his nose in his husband’s hair. He was quiet, but that was okay. There was nothing to say. They’d been through this before. They’d go through it again. Grieving was a long, drawn-out process with no real end. At least Hank could rely on Connor.

He didn’t like thinking about his life between—before Connor but after Cole—when he’d been lower than he cared to admit. Everyone had given him a pass for a while, but he would never have been able to lift himself up and out of all that without Connor. Having someone fall in love with him when he was at his worst made Hank realize there was hope for him yet. He knew he would never be the same as before, but that was okay. Once broken, most things couldn’t be put back together. With glue and dedication, though, they could be somewhat repaired. That was all Hank had been looking for, a reparation of some kind, but he had found so much more than that. He had made himself into someone new, someone who had sadness as an indelible part of his core, but who also had allowed new life to flourish from that sadness.

Just like the lilies, Hank thought. They existed for death and birth, sadness and happiness. The fucking circle of life, with him at the center, unable to tell where one ended and the other began. And that was fine because that was life. This was his life, a life with Connor and Hope and Sumo and without Cole, and he was going to take it and run, even when he was sad.

Hank rubbed at his face in a harsh, unforgiving way. His tears had dripped down into his beard, making him feel awkwardly damp. He sniffed loudly and gently pressed on Connor’s shoulder until his husband let him go.

“Thanks, Con,” Hank said gruffly. He had to push down the reflexive urge to say he was sorry, knowing they were long past the stage of fake apologies for honest emotions.

Connor stared at Hank for barely a handful of seconds before he slid his legs off the edge of their bed and stood up. “Hold on,” he murmured, reaching back and tugging on Hank’s hand. “I’m running you a bath.”

Hank huffed out a quiet laugh. “What, I’m dirty?”

Connor smiled softly. “No, you’re as mind-numbingly handsome as you always are. You just need something nice. Let me give you a bubble bath.”

Hank was too tired and raw to deny that Connor had read him with complete accuracy. So he simply nodded and let his mind drift for a few minutes, trying not to think too hard about anything specific. He had a few cases that needed some paperwork filled out. That was going to be pretty annoying. Laundry need to get done. There was a new single out by this band he’d heard good things about. He’d been meaning to check it out; he could put it on in the car on his way to the store tomorrow. Well, later today. He was sure he’d be going to the store. He’d gone nearly every day to pick up something they needed.

That’s right; they were almost out of milk. Again. Going through it a lot faster now that Hope was drinking it like a connoisseur. Had to pick that up.

It would be terrible if they didn’t have milk for breakfast.

Just terrible.

A soft, warm hand on his cheek had Hank looking up into Connor’s eyes. His mouth was moving, but Hank realized he wasn’t really paying attention.

“Sorry, what?” Hank said, slow and monotone. “Was thinking.”

Connor rubbed his thumb along the skin right under Hank’s eye. “That’s okay, handsome. The bath’s ready for you.”

Hank stood up, feeling like his hearing was coming back in bits and pieces. Had he really been that out of it? He shook his head to clear it.

“Yeah, ‘m coming,” Hank murmured, feeling every centimeter of his body trudge along.

He followed his husband into the bathroom, stripping along the way. They used to sleep naked because it was easier to have sex that way, but now with Hope, they both got used to sleeping in a shirt and boxers. Connor brought the baby monitor into the bathroom with them, and Hank was reminded of how responsible Connor was, how eager to take care of his family. Hank certainly felt like he was being cared for right now.

Stepping into the tub immediately lifted a weight off his shoulders. The water was just this side of too hot—warm enough that Hank could soak in it for a while before it would cool off and force him to get out. The bubbles were soothing, and Hank suspected they had a distinctly floral smell. He wouldn’t put it past Connor to get a scent that doubled as a muscle relaxant. Hank certainly felt like that was the effect it had. His body seemed to sag into the water, lean into the porcelain like he was becoming part of it.

“How does that feel?” Connor asked, reaching over to grab a bottle of something off their shelf.

Hank hummed incoherently. “Good,” he clarified, voice deep and quiet. “Real good.”

In a minute, Hank felt Connor’s hands on him. He opened his eyes—when had he closed them?—to find Connor beginning to lather something onto his nearby arm. Hank had a minute where he was going to ask what it was, but he didn’t actually care. It felt good, and Connor’s hands on him always felt good, so he’d let it slide. Besides, Hank trusted his husband. Connor wasn’t going to hurt him. In fact, Connor was going to make Hank feel better than he normally did. That was just his husband’s way.

Connor liked spoiling himself—giving himself nice things and allowing himself to enjoy them without judgment. He was a hedonist some of the time, going a bit overboard with letting himself bask in feeling good to the point where Hank would occasionally blush or stutter over it, but overall Hank felt his husband had a really good take on life. It was okay to have nice things. It was okay to enjoy them.

Hank had never really done bubble baths before Connor. Now, he realized he had been missing out on all sorts of stuff—not just bubble baths, but also expensive weird coffee with ridiculous names, seasonal outings and decorations, and clothes that fit properly and made him feel good, not just like he had could throw anything on and be good to go. It was strange to start spoiling himself like this so late in life.

Connor, of course, disagreed. He had told Hank time and again that it wasn’t spoiling himself; it was about feeling good. That meant different things for different people, but Connor had learned real fast that Hank hadn’t been taking care of his body, his house, or his personal life for years. There weren’t enough words to describe how grateful Hank was for Connor, how thankful he was for this beautiful man to show him how to feel again.

Hank’s gaze drifted out the small window in the upper corner of their bathroom. He could see how dark it was outside. The moon was shining, the light of it reflecting off the mirror above the sink.

“This is crazy. A bubble bath this late,” Hank murmured, allowing himself to sink down into the bubbles all the same. “Nuts.”

“Not the craziest thing we’ve ever done,” Connor replied.

Hank smiled, his face turning red from a mixture of the hot water and the memories. “Guess not.”

Connor’s hands were a reassuring presence on his body. They moved up and down his arms and over his shoulders, relieving pressure and making Hank feel lighter as they traveled.

“You’re a great father.” Connor’s voice was strong and sure, forcing Hank to believe it. “Cole loved you with all his heart. You know that.”

“Yeah.” Hank leaned back, falling a bit further down into the suds. He blew on them, watching some pop and some float up into the air. Wasn’t that the truth. Wasn’t that just how all things went—success or failure, moving on or being destroyed. “I do.”

Connor’s hands moved down to Hank’s chest, rubbing over his husband’s skin with extreme care. The bubbles were high enough that his chest tattoo was completely covered. Hank let his head fall back, closing his eyes.

“You’re good at this,” Hank mumbled. “Real good.”

Connor made a noise of assent. “You know what else?” Hank made a questioning noise. Connor quietly continued, “You’re going to be an amazing dad to Hope. You already are.”

Hank huffed out a laugh. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Connor began soaping up Hank’s sides, careful not to let his fingers linger where his husband was ticklish. Another time, maybe. Not now. “And we’re going to get to see her love you, too.”

“And you,” Hank added. “She’s gonna fucking LOVE you.”

Connor’s smile was soft, sincere. “Obviously,” he replied with a teasing eye roll.

Hank relaxed in the bath, letting his mind float away like the bubbles were. He trusted Connor to take care of him. And he needed the relaxation. The comfort. Cole was always going to be on his mind. That was simple fact. There was nothing anyone could do to change that, and Hank wouldn’t want to lose the memories of his son—even when they hurt, even when they came upon him without warning, crashing over him in unavoidable waves.

Managing the hurt, though, that was what really mattered. Connor allowed him to do that. Connor gave Hank the space he needed to come to terms with Cole’s death, to acknowledge that it had happened, there was no going back, and he had to move forward. Connor reminded Hank that he had a family now—a husband who was good for him in all the ways he never knew he needed and a daughter who was already proving that she could handle all the craziness their family had to offer.

Hank was wanted again. Needed, even, and that thought made him smile.

“Ready to get out?” Connor asked, which was how Hank realized his husband had finished washing him. Hank felt clean, fresh, renewed. He nodded at Connor, who then reached in to the water again to pull up the plug and let the water begin to drain. “Come on,” he stated. “Stand up so I can dry you off, handsome.”

Hank stood as instructed and stepped out of the tub. Connor wrapped a towel around him—a warm, fluffy one that made Hank feel pampered. He burrowed into it, tugging it up and over his shoulders. Connor used the ends to rub Hank dry as best he could. Hank closed his eyes when Connor ran his hands through Hank’s hair, the long wet strands flicking drops of water around as Connor scrubbed them around on Hank’s head.

“What are you doing?” Hank asked, smiling crookedly.

“Drying your hair,” Connor replied. “Just like how I dry Sumo’s. No complaints, you.”

Fuck, he loved this man.

Hank played along, bending over a little so it was easier for Connor to reach his hair. Once he was finished, Connor stood up on his tiptoes and kissed the top of Hank’s head.

“All done,” he announced. “Let’s head back to bed.”

They left the bathroom and walked down the hall, taking a brief detour to make sure Hope was okay. Once they returned, Hank put on a pair of boxers but didn’t bother with a shirt. His skin felt comfortable—really comfortable. He thought it would be a shame to not fully enjoy it. Though he wasn’t in the mood for sex, simply holding Connor and feeling the sheet over them would be nice.

That’s exactly what Hank did. They settled into bed and Hank held his husband, wrapping his arms around Connor as he tried to sleep. The blinds were still open, how he had left them, so it was a clear view of the night sky once more. It was pretty, definitely.

“Some people think stars are people who’ve passed on,” Hank murmured.

“That’s a nice thought,” Connor replied. “Doesn’t really make sense, though.”

“No,” Hank stated. “It doesn’t.”

The stars couldn’t be people who died because Hank didn’t believe death was that horrible. To be stuck lightyears away from the people they loved, only able to watch as they made mistake after mistake, seemed like a punishment more than anything.

Still, it was okay, wasn’t it, to think about people who were gone as being happy. To want them to be happy. Somewhere. Hank didn’t know where, of course, but he knew everyone was loved by someone. And everyone deserved some measure of happiness in the afterlife—even if they had to wait for other people they loved to catch up and meet them there.

Hank thought Cole would be happy for him. He thought Cole would understand that he needed to keep living. That Connor had given him a new life. That it was okay to want a new life when his old one had been ripped away from him so abruptly, so savagely. He thought Cole would have been a great big brother to Hope. He hoped Cole would still get that chance—maybe in pictures or stories or as a comforting memory.

“We should take her star-gazing.” Connor was drowsing off, voice already thick with the allure of sleep.

Hank kissed Connor’s temple. “When she’s older,” he agreed, holding his husband closely to him, pressing them tightly together until Hank felt comforted enough to drift off, thinking of stars, and people, and the people who were his stars.

~*~

The next night was easier. Better, overall. Hank sat in the rocking chair in Hope’s nursery, holding her in his arms as Connor picked out a book to read aloud. His finger ran carefully along the spines of each of them, but Hank already knew which he would go for. Connor and Hank had a favorite story, one that reflected lessons they wanted to teach Hope from the get-go. They would pick other stories in the middle of the day, and sometimes, occasionally, something else at night. But Hank could see it in Connor’s face—the quick dismissal of the other titles, choosing the children’s book he most preferred from their small but well-loved collection.

“Here we go,” Connor said, pulling it out. He walked over to stand in front of them, clearing his throat for the production. Hank smiled widely, his crow’s feet crinkling at the corners of his eyes. “He was red,” Connor began, enunciating clearly. That mattered, he had told Hank. Couldn’t teach their baby girl to mumble. “But he wasn’t very good at it.”

Connor held the pages of the book open to Hope, letting her see the first picture of a blue crayon wrapped in a red crayon’s label. Then he flipped the page, showing Hope the huge blue picture of a firetruck that the blue crayon had made.

“Oh dear,” Hank said, voice low and grumbly as he mimicked the reaction from the blue crayon’s mother, the olive crayon. Hope giggled, light and carefree. Hank kissed her head, rubbing his nose and beard into her face for a second. She laughed louder, and Connor couldn’t hold back his smile as he continued, following along with the story until the end where—surprise!—people realize the blue crayon wasn’t actually red at all, but has instead been blue this whole time.

Hope was always pleased with Connor reading this one. Her mouth opened slightly as she got more excited with each page. Still, she was used to going to sleep at this time, and her body began to slow down despite Connor’s storytelling wizardry. Hank rocked her through it, watching carefully as she closed her eyes and reopened them before closing them again.

“Can’t choose between sleeping or listening to your daddy, huh?” Hank whispered. “Same.”

Connor closed the book with a smile. “I happen to know just how comforting it is to fall asleep in your arms, Mr. Anderson.” He returned the book to Hope’s tiny bookshelf. Then Connor bent over to flip on Hope’s nightlight, a sparkly rainbow that slowly switched colors.

After cautiously standing up, making sure not to disturb Hope now that she was either sleeping or near to it, Hank gently laid her down in her crib. He stood over her, looking at his daughter sleeping, and he meant to leave the room. Instead, Connor walked over, joining Hank in watching over their daughter.

“She’s beautiful,” Hank murmured.

“She gets that from you,” Connor replied.

Hank blushed at the compliment. “Hey, now,” he quietly said as he wrapped his arm around Connor’s shoulders, pulling him in closer. “You’re biased.”

Connor reached up and held onto Hank’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “Shut up, you’re gorgeous,” he whispered. “Handsome to a fault.”

Hank grinned widely and pulled gently on Connor’s neck. “Look who’s talking, stud.”

Connor hummed in agreement. Hank’s grin widened even more at that. Connor was definitely not the humblest of men. Well, he had no problem with a guy who knew what he was and what he wanted. Made things so much easier, if you asked him.

“We should go before we wake her up,” Connor said, squeezing Hank’s hand.

Hank stared down at Hope sleeping. He wanted to remember this. Nothing was guaranteed. They could all die tomorrow for all he knew. Accidents happened. Fate or God or gods or karma or the huge expanse of the unknowable universe could suddenly decide that was it. So he couldn’t let any second go. Not a single one. He had to gather them up, all of them, and keep them close to his heart.

“In a minute,” he agreed. “Maybe two.”

~*~

It took some time to get the family ready for a walk. It was autumn—not cold enough to break out the big coats, yet cool enough that warmer clothes were mandatory. Hank looked over everyone as they were headed out the door. Connor looked like he’d stepped straight off the cover of GQ, as usual. Hank didn’t even know where he bought clothes that looked like that. Sumo was ready in his leash and collar, sitting by the door, tail waggling excitedly. Hank was in his well-worn jacket, warm and comfortable and loose enough that he could shove stuff in his pockets without it jabbing him in the side, trying to kill him with each step he took.

Hope was a bit more of a challenge. She was in a normal outfit, with a jacket and warm boots and gloves over that. Then she was nestled in a blanket in her stroller, and they had put up the hood of the stroller to block out part of the sun from her eyes, but not so much that she wasn’t getting any sunlight at all. It was a delicate balance that Hank had to relearn.

“Is everybody ready?” Hank asked, looking over the family one more time.

“Let’s go.” Connor grabbed onto Sumo’s leash and opened the door. “I’ll take Sumo. I want the workout today.”

Hank smiled. “Okay, you convinced me. I’ll take the easy job.” He held onto the handle of Hope’s stroller and went out the door. Connor and Sumo followed after, and the four of them headed to the dog park that was five blocks away. Just enough of a walk to really feel it.

It was early in the day. Hank hadn’t thought about just how early it was until a school bus drove by, stopping at the corner to pick up some kids. Hank’s eyes crinkled up when he saw them struggling to take that one big first step into the bus.

“They’re so little,” Connor said on a laugh. “I don’t ever remember being that small.”

“Me neither,” Hank agreed.

“Well, that’s different,” Connor replied. “I don’t think you were ever small in your entire life. Not ever.”

Hank burst out laughing, a loud guffaw that got Sumo and Hope excited, both of them looking at Hank, waiting to be included. “I was a baby at one point, you know!”

Connor’s nose wrinkled. “Unlikely.” Sumo pulled on the leash and they kept walking.

“Besides,” Hank continued, “you might not remember being small, but do you remember things around you being huge? Because that’s the same thing.”

“Fair,” Connor said, sighing. “I still think you were always big.”

“Well. A little on the big side, sure.” Hank playfully elbowed Connor, which had Sumo run around in a circle and Hope giggle a bit.

They walked on, passing even more students. Some were walking to school, wearing or carrying backpacks. A few whizzed by on bikes, not bothering to slow down at the corners. A lot of them were on their phones, fingers moving far faster than their feet. A crossing guard came out to stop a few cars as some kids ran across the street, shouting thank you and waving. There were a bunch of kids in cars, either in the passenger seat or dealing with the back. One car passed by that had a dog in the passenger seat and a child in the back, but the kid looked pleased as punch as she reached in front of her, straining to pet her dog.

“Guess school’s starting back up,” Hank commented. He couldn’t remember seeing this much traffic and commotion so early for a couple months. Even when he took Sumo on his early morning walks, it had been mostly silent.

“What was it like?” Connor asked, a thread of curiosity in his voice. Hank looked over at him, not following. “Cole’s first day of school? Do you think it’ll be the same for Hope?”

“Doubt it.” Hank thought back to that day—the chaos of first-time parents (including himself) nervously dropping off their kids, the kids alternating between leaving their parents behind in the dust and clutching to their legs with sobs for them to stay, the teachers smiling and being overly welcoming to the point of Hank feeling like they all were actually well-trained criminal operatives. He snorted. “At the very least, I hope I won’t make such an ass out of myself this time around.”

Connor looked quickly at Hank. “What’d you do?”

Hank sighed. “I asked the teacher for her ID.”

“Okay…” Connor pursed his lips. “That’s not SO bad.”

“Then I confiscated it,” Hank continued.

“Um.”

“And I brought it to my patrol car so I could run it through the system,” Hank finished.

“Hank!” Connor shouted, shock and surprised delight warring for dominance on his face. “What! You can’t abuse your power like that!”

Hank held up a hand in apology. “Look, I know, okay? I know it was messed up but I did it anyway.”

“Oh my God,” Connor said, running a hand down over his face.

“The good news is she had a clean record. And she was very nice about the whole thing.” Hank paused, then stated, “The bad news is I got a disciplinary write-up over it.”

“Well, yeah,” Connor stated. “What did you think was going to happen?”

“I don’t know, Con,” Hank replied. “I guess I thought that I needed to make sure the person I was entrusting my kid to wasn’t some maniac.”

Connor reached over and held onto Hank’s hand, giving it a brief squeeze. “Cole was lucky to have you,” Connor said. “And so are we. Isn’t that right, Hope?” Connor looked down into the stroller, waving his fingers at their daughter.

Hope looked back up at her fathers, kicking her feet a little. She was smiling—she seemed like she was always smiling. Hank thought she must have been the happiest baby in the world. But then, that made sense. Both he and Connor were doing everything in their power to ensure Hope had everything she needed.

Hank knew there would be a bit of over-protectiveness, at least at first. Some helicopter parenting, definitely. He couldn’t imagine him and Connor not ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice whenever Hope needed them for whatever reason. She would probably have them wrapped around her finger. She already did, really, and she wasn’t even trying. Maybe she would be really independent by her first day of school, or maybe she would need some encouragement. Either way, Hank was ready to face it together with Connor, with Hope, as a family.

“Cole had this backpack with rockets on it,” Hank said as the memory came to him. His son standing there in the store, picking out the rockets with excitement in his eyes. Getting ready for his first day of school, having already taken to wearing his backpack around the house for several days before, just because he could. “He would put it on and then hold out his hands, running to the car like he was shooting into space.”

Connor laughed. “He got his imagination from you, then.”

“Yeah.” Hank’s chest puffed out a bit as pride filled him to bursting. “Guess he did.”

It didn’t hurt, talking about Cole like this. It felt nice. It just WAS nice.

Hank’s smile must have been contagious because he looked over and saw it reflected on Connor’s face. “What?”

“You, what?” Connor replied, reflecting the question back at his husband. “What’s got you so happy?”

Hank shrugged, unsure how to encompass everything he was thinking. “Life,” he eventually settled on. “Life is good.”

“Yeah,” Connor agreed. “It really is, isn’t it?”

~*~

“Babe.”

“Give me a second.”

Hank waited a moment before laughing a little and saying, “Babe, come on. We’re not even going out today. It doesn’t matter what she wears.”

Connor shot Hank an incredibly unimpressed look. “It always matters, Hank. We’re not raising her to be a heathen.” He continued inspecting Hope’s large selection of tiny outfits, deft hands flicking between the options with the ease of long-term practice. Hope had quite the collection of styles at her disposal, already spoiled by Connor’s particular sense of high fashion.

Hank’s smile spread across his face like melted butter, inching along the cracks until his entire face felt warm with it. He rocked Hope in his arms, lulling her as she stared up at him, and staring down at her in return.

Connor held up a light blue dress with a small embroidered design on it. He turned it around twice, eyes narrowing, before hanging it back up and pushing it to the side. “Cute, but not appropriate for a day at home,” he explained. “I’ll find something good, just hold on.”

“All right,” Hank murmured, exchanging a smile with their daughter. Yeah, he thought. That’s your daddy. Isn’t he something else? “Take your time.”

Turned out he didn't mind waiting, after all.

~*~

fin.

**Author's Note:**

> The children's book Connor reads to Hope is "Red: A Crayon's Story" by Michael Hall.


End file.
